“What a horrid mess,” Ulkarin said.
That was a good way to put it, Harald thought, though it didn’t quite express the magnitude of damage that had been done to Arnima. The place was full of dead creatures from Oblivion. Dead townsfolk adorned the bridge railings or hung in a gruesome testament to what Jackos’ company hadn’t quite managed to stop.
“Just look at this!” Kalaman cried, looking up at the hanging bodies. “I don’t believe for an instant that those creatures from Oblivion are capable of doing this. This was some other group taking advantage of the chaos to cause more chaos.”
“Agreed,” Ulkarin said. “There was definitely chaos on this side. I was busy fighting those bone creatures but it wouldn’t surprise me if some of the king’s men decided to relieve the jail of some of its residents.” He shrugged. “It was shite. At least you got knighthoods out of it.”
“Not I,” Kalaman said. “The knighthoods were awarded to Rados and Harald. And even if offered, I would not have accepted. I’m a mage, not a knight. Besides, the Jorus family name is complex enough without adding another entanglement to it.”
Harald shook his head. “How can I accept a knighthood in another province? I can’t swear an oath of allegiance to Sigmayne. I don’t even know Sigmayne.”
Kalaman rubbed his chin, peering at Harald. “I don’t believe you’d be swearing an oath to Sigmayne, Harald.” He furrowed his brow, as though concentrating on some tome he’d read years before. “The Knight’s Oath is more general, more universal. It’s a promise of upright behavior that would not conflict with being a king. In fact,” he added, smiling at Harald, “it might enhance your status, when the time comes. I don’t know that any High King of Skyrim has ever sworn such a promise to his people.”
Harald sighed. It was true enough. Skyrim’s High Kings had tended to be either warlords like his father and grandfather, or puppets of the Empire, like Torygg. The people might be reassured to have a High King beholden only to a higher code of conduct.
“I don’t know…”
“Come on, mate,” Ulkarin said, poking at him. “Take the reward. They owe you that. You can go back home and never think of it again. Besides, you’ll get a new set of armor out of the deal and really you could use one.” He wrinkled his nose. It was true enough; after their time climbing flesh-mountains neither Harald nor Kalaman smelled particularly wonderful.
Kalaman rubbed his chin, peering at Harald. “As a bureaucrat myself, and having seen many leaders, I can only suggest that diplomatic connections between Skyrim and any other province you might name would be useful in the long run.”
Harald sighed. “I suppose we need to go that way anyway, to check up on the Orcs at Umbasir for Kegor.” A moment later he shrugged. “All right, I defer to your far greater experience. I’ll do it. They’ll probably have forgotten me long before the day comes when it would matter, anyway.”
I hope.
It was a pleasant enough run from Arnima to Evermore: warm, breezy, and most of all quiet, for which Harald was grateful. He’d heard enough screaming from otherworldly creatures for an entire lifetime. It didn’t look as though the blight had spread much farther beyond the city walls, which was a relief. Evermore itself, once they arrived, seemed not to have been affected at all by the Daedric intrusion into High Rock. They strolled through the city and up to the palace, where Harald, in spite of his misgivings, approached the king.
Sigmayne smiled. “Welcome!”
“Greetings, your Majesty,” Harald said, giving the seated king a shallow bow of respect. “Your knight, Ser Horustair, told me that the King might have an award for me.”
“Yes!” the king said, looking self-satisfied. “Yes, our Bishop relayed the message that your actions, along with those of your cohorts, halted the advance of a powerful Daedric entity. Such a rare event affords an even rarer opportunity: to award a knighthood. Although your shoulders have already carried the burden of an entire town, I am sure they can carry the importance of being a Knight.”
Harald had been weighing his words all the way from Arnima. He wanted to appear neither arrogant nor too deferential. Nothing would be gained by either insulting Evermore’s King or revealing his own rank. Yet Sigmayne was correct: they had shouldered the weight of Arnima’s future, and he was very young to have done so.
“Thank you, sire. And thank you for recognizing my companions. Their efforts are too often overlooked.”
“Thousands of men would murder to become knights without decades of work in my guard,” Sigmayne said. “Do not take this reward for granted. Any acts you commit from here on will be a reflection of my judgment, and so any ill acts you commit will stain the Kingdom of Evermore.”
Harald fought to keep a calm expression. I hadn’t expected him to be a pompous ass to me. I should have. He wasn’t exactly friendly to Kegor when we saw him earlier. But he doesn’t know who I am. To him, I’m just a youngster who fought well.
“I certainly shall not. Thank you, sire.”
Sigmayne wasn’t finished. “Further, Any good you bring will bolster the reputation of Evermore throughout High Rock and beyond. The peasantry will be forced to respect you, the nobility will accept you as an equal – if you recite the Knight’s sacred oath.”
“I can shoulder such a responsibility.” Upholding standards and doing good? I can do that. I’m already prepared to do that, and I have a King’s Inquisitor ready to tan my hide if I don’t.
That thought had him struggling not to frown. Gods I miss home.
Sigmayne beamed, clearly pleased with his own magnanimity. “Are you ready to speak the words that only the most valorous have uttered?”
“Yes. I will take the oath.”
And then Harald, Prince of Skyrim, found himself kneeling before King Sigmayne of Evermore. It was a position he’d never expected to take, and prayed silently to Shor that he was not, in fact, violating some unspoken oath to his father or to the people of Skyrim. Sigmayne’s accents grew even more sonorous and pompous.
“Repeat after me. I – state your name – thus promise:”
“I, Harald, thus promise.”
“To revere the Nine and maintain their temples; to serve the king in valor and faith. To protect the weak and defenseless; to give succor to widows and orphans. To obey those placed in authority; to guard the honor of fellow knights. Never to refuse a challenge from an equal; never to turn the back upon a foe. To eschew barbarity, malevolence, deceit and disorder. And above all, To keep faith.”
Harald repeated each of the oaths as Sigmayne presented them, sending out silent thanks to his erudite friend the Archmage. Kalaman was right. These were lofty ideals, things he’d always held close to his heart regardless of where he was, and not a single one of them required him to do anything contrary to his service to his father.
Sigmayne smiled. “You have completed your oath. Hear me all those under my protection, hear me all kind gods, this person shall forever be a Knight of Evermore. Now bask in your newfound fame, and attend the duties of the land. Help the despaired and sullen souls, for we have many.”
“Thank you, sire,” Harald said quietly. He felt oddly subdued. This was a high honor he had been given. It seemed somehow out of all proportion to his actions and somehow undeserved. But he knew how to behave among royalty and knew better than to argue with a king.
“There is one more important gift that we bestow upon our knights: new apparel, so that you can be seen to carry the Griffon wherever you go. What type would you have?”
Harald smiled. “I prefer heavy armor.”
“Your build is more than enough to carry such weight, and such imposing armor has been known to stop scoundrels in their tracks before.”
He motioned to one of his guards, who approached bearing the same sort of armor Horustair used. Harald was certain his face couldn’t disguise his anticipation. He could have made or purchased new armor at any time – his steel plate was showing its age, after all, and, as Ulkarin had noted, was less than fresh – but this armor was handsome and special, and he had earned it.
“My sincere thanks, your Majesty. I will wear it with pride,” he said, finding that he meant every word. With that, he bowed and turned back toward the exit. To his utter surprise, the two guards nearest the door bowed deeply as he approached.
I guess I’m going to have to get used to having my rank recognized, aren’t I? Gods. Qara is going to think my head has gotten bigger than my shield.
“Well, Ser Harald, what next?” Ulkarin grinned as Harald approached.
Harald snorted. “Call me ‘Ser’ again and I’ll have to pull rank on you.”
“A well-earned title, Harald,” Kalaman said. “Enjoy it. And enjoy the armor. If we may, I’d like to visit Evermore’s smithy. If nothing else, I can construct a replacement for this robe. I am hardly a smith, but I have sufficient skills to do that.”
“And I need to try on this new gear,” Harald said. “I feel like a child with a new toy. I’ve been wearing this plate for a very long time now. Let’s go.”
“It looks good,” Ulkarin told him. While Kalaman had gone in search of an enchantment table to improve his replacement robes, Harald had donned his new armor. They now waited near the smithy in Evermore’s lower level.
“I don’t much like the helmet,” Harald said. “It’ll be hard to get potions in me with this face plate.”
Ulkarin snickered. “You get to practice your healing, then,” he said. “Or you can wear the old helmet. It’s still better armor than you had, and nobody will fail to notice that you’re a knight.”
Harald nodded. “Change is… change.” He removed the helmet, grinning at his friend, and then spotted a familiar figure across the way: Kegor, heading toward the stairs up to his home.
He spotted Harald and beckoned them nearer. “Carry the Griffon, Knight of Evermore!”
“Thank you Kegor,” Harald said, smiling. “You probably know why we haven’t made it to Umbasir yet. We’ll be heading there shortly. Do you know of any other ‘knightly’ duties I should undertake?”
“Sigmayne has dispensed funding for a number of renovations throughout the realm. We need to stay aware of how that funding is being used, but we’re overdue for reports from three important assets. The first is Deepcrag; having recently been liberated, it is undergoing repairs. Second is Lonely Griffon’s Retreat, our most remote outpost bordering the northern wastes. Find a man called Tyyr, but be warned: he has a short temper. Finally are the mines in what is known as “the Bog.” The overseer there, who keeps the labor in check, will have our report.”
“Good. We’ll retrieve the reports for you,” Harald told him. He didn’t especially relish running through the Bog yet again, but seeing the people in charge close up would give him more information to take home to his father – and he was beginning to feel as though that time was close. “But why spend money now, rather than earlier?”
He nodded. “Good question. The principal reason is that we’ve, or you’ve, taken care of our largest hindrances within the realm, meaning that our gold wouldn’t be wasted in a land that would soon be looted again. Beyond that, the relations we have with the provincial Merchants fill the treasury; no need to hoard wealth when half the land is in ruin.”
“Hmm. The merchants do seem to have a lot of influence on politics here.”
“They do. In fact sometimes it seems their whims are the King’s whims; there’s no greater arbiter than controlling gold. Those merchants have grand plans, worrying plans. Especially those pertinent to New Orsinium and the trade route it borders.”
“Ah,” Harald nodded. “And that’s one of the reasons you need us to do a bit of eavesdropping in Umbasir. What do you think they’re planning with Orsinium?”
“We’re still not sure where the Orcs have holed up. There’s many an enclave that’s been mistaken for their capital. What we are sure of is that they’re close to at least one major trade route. And that threatens the merchants dearly.”
Ulkarin stepped up beside Harald. “The merchants want to raze the Orcs’ home yet again?”
“As a military man, I’ve been sought out for advice, tactical and the like. And the plans drawn for the “Orc problem” are terrifying. From what I’ve seen, it could be only a matter of time until those strongholds in Skyrim are also under threat. Eventually there wont be one place the Orc can call its own. All for a pile of gold.”
“We’ll see what we can find out for you and be back as soon as we can,” Harald told him, trying his best to seem self-assured. In truth, his understanding of the Orcs and their history was sparse at best.
It’s just so complex. That people has been at war for so long I wonder if they would know what to do with peace.
Kegor was just leaving as Kalaman, freshly attired, rejoined them. “Just in time, Archmage,” Harald said with a grin. “We’ve been given additional duties.”
“As couriers,” Ulkarin said, sarcastically.
Kalaman laughed. “Let’s go, then!”
Their first stop was at Deepcrag Ravine. Harald was happy to see the place during the day given how nearly pitch-black it had been when they’d routed the Orcs. It was impressive, seen in its entirety: an old Imperial fort enhanced by the substantial stockade fencing he remembered from their first visit, and just as confusing to navigate as it had been in the dark, with multiple stairs, platforms, and swinging bridges crossing the river. Once they’d made it to the tower, though, it wasn’t difficult to find the Imperial officer on duty.
As was often the case when he needed to deal with Imperial soldiers, Harald gritted his teeth and said a silent prayer that nobody in authority now would likely have known his father as a young man. While he’d spoken with this man before, it had been in the dark.
“Hello, sir. It seems that things are finally taking a turn for the better. I’m here on an errand for Evermore, but before I finish my business here let me ask whether there is anything else you may need help with.”
It seemed to Harald that the man’s eyes lit up. “Funny you should say that, though the reason for my needing help is far from funny. Do you remember the woman we rescued here? The one forced upon by the Orcs.”
“I do indeed. That was a sorry bit of business. What happened?”
“Well, the woman, Denize, has vanished. She was being tended to by the field nurse, but must have slipped out during the night.”
“Hmm. Do you have any idea where she went?”
“My first suspicion relates to her unborn child, about which she despaired. The nurse told me of Denize’s fascination with this local myth, a witch who was known to perform dark rituals and the like. My fear is that Denize has fled into the wilds in search of that Witch, probably in an attempt to deprive herself of that child.”
Harald frowned. As a child, he’d watched his mother nearly break after losing his brother, a life begun from love. He could only imagine the despair that might come of bearing a child of violence and wanting desperately to be free of that violence. “We’ll be visiting several out-of-the-way places once we leave here. I’ll see if I can find her. It sounds as though she continues to need care.”
“I wish I could send my own, but we’ve scant bodies to spare. Good luck, for what it’s worth. Bring her back alive.”
“We’ll do our best. Now then. Kegor, from Evermore, has assigned me to collect reports from the outposts. I assume you have such a thing?”
The man grinned up from under his helmet as he reached for his desk. “I’m an Imperial, do you really need to ask if I’ve kept up with my end of bureaucracy?” He handed Harald a well-oiled scroll case. “Here you go. There will be additional paperwork sent over in the coming days, so we may be seeing more of each other.”
Their second stop was in the Bog. Harald approached the overseer, asked for his report, and was greeted with a sneer and a top-to-bottom scan.
“Aren’t you that mercenary turned knight? Sheesh. I knew Sigmayne wasn’t exactly frugal with his knighthoods but that’s really scraping the bottom.”
Harald hadn’t expected hostility, and especially hadn’t expected insults. He felt himself flushing as his anger started to burn; but before he could say anything, Kalaman’s haughty tones interrupted.
“I didn’t see you or yours battling Daedric constructs in the Scuttling Void,” he sniffed. “Ser Harald did. Were I in your shoes I might be more careful with insulting a Knight of Evermore, lest news of your impertinence reach King Sigmayne.” He stepped closer and poked a long, elegant finger into the man’s chest. “You might also find that a mage of some status, and possessed of a great deal of destruction magic, might lose his patience with such behavior.”
The Overseer’s eyes flickered, and it was impossible not to see him swallowing his nervous distress. “Fortunately, I found some respite from rebuilding this swamp to write up that report.” Harald held out a hand, and the man passed him some slightly damp, rolled-up papers. “Put in a word with Sigmayne for me, will ya? Hopefully get myself knighted, too.”
Harald said nothing, but chuckled as he slipped the papers into his pack.
“We certainly shall,” Kalaman sniffed. “But I shouldn’t hold my breath waiting for a knighthood, were I in your position.” The Overseer swallowed hard once again, then turned and made for the nearest group of workers.
“Put the fear of the gods into that one, didn’t you, Archmage?” Ulkarin said quietly.
“I certainly hope so.”
Their final report-gathering stop was at Lonely Griffon’s Retreat. As Kegor had suggested, the man called Tyyr was sharp-tongued and short-tempered, and with good reason. They’d seen bear traps and dead Witchmen just outside the hamlet’s gates; Tyyr wasted no time in ordering Harald’s group to help defend the settlement.
“Witchmen have been making a stir nearby. We’re in need of an extra sword.” He looked at Ulkarin, who nodded back at him. “Or an axe. That’ll do nicely.”
“Alright,” Harald said. “We’ll help fend them off.”
Tyyr was staring, not at Harald but past him. “Can hear the rustling already. Sounds like they’re drawing near.”
What ensued was one of the briefest and yet most ferocious battles Harald had seen in his short life. It looked like a small group of Witchmen approaching; it turned out to be a substantial attack including several powerful mages and a being that transformed into a creature like those they’d encountered in the northern valley – a bony creature with an oversized skull, howling like a werewolf and spewing toxic liquid. Harald was unable to avoid the poison and was struck by an ice spell simultaneously, and found himself fully down, clinging to life by a thread. If not for the dumb luck of Tyyr stepping between him and the witchmen, he would not have had a chance to heal himself. By the time the others had defeated the invading Witchmen Harald was up again but shuddering, not capable of stopping his body from shaking.
“Great work!” Tyyr said, approaching Harald. “We thought we were done until you came along.”
“I thought I was done just then. But I’m glad it’s worked out. By the way, we were here because I’m to collect a report for Kegor, in Evermore. He wants to know how you’re faring.”
Tyyr snorted. “This outpost fares well enough without any poncy types like you coming and sticking your nose in things. Ah, can’t knock ya after you sticking your neck out for us. Here, take it.” He handed Harald some papers. “Don’t mind the handwriting. Can’t keep a steady hand since I’ve busted it so many times.” He shrugged and turned back to cross the stream into Lonely Griffon’s Retreat.
Harald blew out a deep breath once Tyyr was far enough away that he wouldn’t hear it. “I don’t mind telling you two that I’m still shaking. That was the closest I’ve ever come to dying. Things were happening so fast, and that mage got me with the ice…”
“Let’s head back to Evermore and find ourselves a room,” Ulkarin suggested. “I know we’ve got more to do but this has been a full day already.”
“I know I’ve already made my promise, Ser Harald, but I’d just as soon not greet the High King with news that his son died to a band of overwrought Forsworn.” Kalaman’s voice was light, but Harald could hear the very real concern underlying his humor.
“Right. I could get behind an ale or two before anything else. Knight or not.”
Conveniently enough, Kegor was at the inn when they arrived in Evermore. He seemed happy to see them – undoubtedly, Harald thought, because he would not need to fetch reports himself. Harald pulled the papers out of his pack and handed them over.
“Here you go. They all seemed to be doing well enough, but let’s just say that there was some resistance in obtaining these papers.”
“You’ve surely faced worse, if the accounts from Raven Spring are anything to go by. You’ve probably fostered the impression of being the sole guardian of this realm. Don’t fret, we’ve all got our burdens.”
“Very good. Thank you.”
“There’s disarray among those savage northerners. It wont be long until the Empire reclaims all of The Reach. Peace at last!” He laughed. “Ha, let’s not jinx our fortune.”
First you, then all of the Reach. Not the first time I’ve heard that.
Harald watched Kegor walk up the stairs of the inn and settle with a tankard of ale at a table overlooking the rest of the inn. He grinned and turned to his companions, pointing up the stairs.
“I think Kegor has the right idea. Let’s get ourselves some drinks and then rest for the night.”
“Great idea,” Ulkarin said, heading for the bar.
“That was certainly unpleasant,” Kalaman said, dusting off his robes yet again.
Harald looked down at the bodies in the roadway and tsk’d. “Yes it was. What did you say this place is called, Tiny?”
“Karthgran Vale,” Ulkarin said. “Up ahead there, that old tower in the hills, that’s called Dissenter’s Rise.”
They’d gone northwest from Evermore, along the road leading up into the mountains bordering Evermore’s territory. There was a gate there, much like the one separating Evermore’s holdings from Arnima’s. On the other side was a cadre of bloodthirsty poachers and bandits, obviously squatting in this ruined hamlet of several boarded-up homes and a damaged inn because of its perfect situation for ambushes.
“I had thought somehow we’d be facing Orcs here,” Harald murmured. The Exiles were a mixed bag of Breton, Imperial, and half-breeds, but he saw no Orcs in their midst.
“I suspect they’re clustered around Umbasir,” Kalaman said, “based on what the officer said, at least. Or perhaps they have a camp farther down the road here, where trade caravans come up from the southern parts of High Rock.”
As they passed the peak holding the footings of the old fort, Kalaman pointed right. A path led up the hillside there, with rude wooden arches leading toward a faint glow beyond the crest of the hill.
“I want to investigate that on the way back,” he said. “There’s some sort of magic atop that hill, and given that our Imperial friend mentioned a witch, it might be useful to check for the young girl as well.”
“Orcs first, though,” Ulkarin said.
“Indeed. Orcs first.”
Moments later they reached the crest of the pass. The road divided here, a well-maintained Imperial highway continuing down and through the pass to the west, and a wide dirt path continuing north. That was the direction Kalaman pointed. “I believe Umbasir is that way.”
“Alright,” Harald said. “Let’s be as quiet as we can. I’m not exactly stealthy but we don’t know how far away the Orcs might be.”
Near the crest of the hill were ordinary stone walls flanking a tall, pointed archway of smooth, veined stone. Harald glanced at Kalaman for confirmation, and got a nod. “Direnni,” Kalaman whispered. “That’s what the priest was asking about, earlier – smooth, clean stone. It must be Umbasir.”
Harald nodded. “Alright. I’ll sneak around the side and listen. You two wait here, unless you hear me Shout. My bow provides a few moments of invisibility, and I have potions, as well. I think I’ll be able to get close enough.”
“Here,” Kalaman said, reaching into a pocket to pull out a potion and hand it to Harald. “It’s a powerful invisibility potion, quite long-lasting. Save yours for backup.”
“Try and come back in one piece,” Ulkarin added.
Harald nodded, and began easing his way up the slope and through the Direnni arch, his eyes widening at what lay beyond. Walls topped by more of the same smooth, veined stone as in the arches extended out from a slim tower. A central courtyard had a “well” of sorts, surrounded by a descending spiral stair. At least two closed doorways led into the mountainside.
As intrigued as he was by the ruins, Harald needed to focus on the Orc-styled wooden structures built onto and next to the Direnni. He crept slowly along the perimeter, seeking out the tallest grasses and shrubs, praying fervently that his new armor was quieter than the old. Voices, muffled at first, became more understandable as he drew nearer. Most were the deep, gruff timbres of Orcs but one stood out, lighter and higher than the rest, clearly an Altmer. Harald quaffed the invisibility potion Kalaman had given him and eased forward until he saw the speaker.
Thalmor!
“I hope you’re still keeping to our schedule?” the mer in black asked. “It would be a shame for your kind to lose their momentum now.“
The Orc snorted. “Look, just give us the gear and we’ll do the rest. You don’t like speaking to us and we sure don’t like speaking to you.“
The Thalmor’s reply dripped with sarcasm. “A mutual sentiment I assure you. One more thing: have you spoken to your friends at that outpost?”
“The imperial one? Nah, big chief over there hasn’t sent someone over in weeks. Dunno what’s wrong with ‘im.”
So it was the Thalmor behind the Orcs’ incursions. This group, snugged up against the mountains nearest the trade routes, had been working with the Orcs routed at Deepcrag. Harald could have left then and scurried back to Kegor, but he had the feeling there was more. He swallowed his agitation and listened.
“As usual, your kind behave like your goblin cohorts in the first week of an organized occupation. You will send for that warchief and speak.”
The Orc harrumphed. “Listen. Just hurry up and bring those supplies. As I said, we’ll do what your lot want, and you pay us. Simple.”
The Thalmor sniffed. “If only it were ever that simple with your kind. The gear will be here by tomorrow, and remember, leave one witness from Dunlain alive. Do what you do best.”
“Hah, don’t you worry. We’ve sharpened some brand new pikes just for ’em. We got a bet for how high we can leave ’em hanging before they slide down.”
Harald could hear the Thalmor’s grunt of disgust even as far away as he was. As the Thalmor spoke again, Harald quaffed one of his additional invisibility potions and started to move away. It wouldn’t do to be discovered now.
“Such a morbid race. We’ll speak again after the contract is done.”
Harald turned back toward the edge of the hills, retracing his route as carefully as he could even as his mind raced. The Thalmor were the suppliers. The pod he and the others had ruined in Deepcrag was just one of several. Supplies were being moved across the mountains to these out-of-the-way spots via Dunlain.
How many times have I overheard Father and the others speaking about the Thalmor? We can hold off the Empire if it tries to retake Skyrim, but the elves are the real enemy, he’s said. It always felt as though that day would be sometime far, far in the future. But they’re moving materials into place now. The Reach is fragile; it will take little for them to overrun it if they have the strength of Orsinium’s Sons to clear the way. We’ve already seen how the Redguards are picking away at the southern areas – if the Thalmor were to assist them as well, they could easily retake all of High Rock by pushing east with one group and south with the other, and not put themselves at risk at all.
The “some day” is closer than we thought.
I need to get home to Father. He needs to be prepared.
And… I need to be prepared.